


Passing the Bar

by Shachaai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Valentine's Day, the men don't really matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9780251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: Elaine Kirkland has two small consolations when her Valentine’s dinner date goes disastrously wrong before they even make it to the table at the restaurant. The first is that she has alcohol to make it better, and the second is that the woman sitting beside her at the bar, whose date is arguing withElaine'sdate, is a) gorgeous, and b) suffering with her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Took a short break from writing femslash to write… Valentine’s femslash.

Elaine Kirkland has two small consolations when her Valentine’s dinner date goes disastrously wrong before they even make it to the table at the restaurant.

The first is that, when the  _ idiot  _ man she’s with (who she will  _ never  _ be accepting a date offer from again) decides to start a stupid fight with the man in the mixed couple in the queue behind them at the restaurant, the  _ maître d _ has already shown them to the bar area so they can get drinks whilst waiting for their table. Elaine has a terribly seasonal pink strawberry daiquiri to drink whilst considering just when she is going to dump her companion of the evening: it would make more of a point for her to do it whilst the ignorant, neglectful and frankly  _ embarrassing  _ twat is making a public nuisance of himself, but walking out means no dinner, and, since they have already waited a while for food, Elaine is getting rather hungry. The  _ maître d  _ has been over to see Elaine  _ twice  _ already to find out if they’re ready to go to their table yet, and each time she has had to send the man away again and allow him to give the table to a couple that isn’t missing half its company in the queue behind them.

Elaine’s second consolation is that she is not  _ alone  _ with public embarrassment. The woman who had been in the couple behind Elaine and her date, whose companion is now busy - loudly - arguing with Elaine’s date, is, likewise, stranded at the bar  _ with  _ Elaine, sighing so gustily as she leans back against the bar counter her chest rises and falls very dramatically with the motion. Elaine is doing her very best not to look at the aforementioned chest of the woman sitting on the bar stool beside her, but knows she’s failing rather miserably because a) the woman really is sighing quite noticeably (probably hoping her companion will start paying attention to her again), b) the woman is drop dead  _ gorgeous  _ in precisely the way that makes Elaine want to happily drop dead for her, and c) the woman is wearing a  _ very  _ low-cut top, her dark, curly hair swept up in a ponytail that swings as she moves and shows off the lovely line of her throat.

Elaine orders another strawberry daiquiri.

“I think…” says the beautiful stranger beside Elaine, and it takes Elaine a moment to realise the other woman is talking to  _ her,  _ the weight of her gaze so abruptly intent on Elaine that Elaine almost drops her cocktail, “I should apologise for my date? But I am not so certain what they’re even arguing about.”

“...Me neither,” Elaine admits, and carefully sets down her drink before its glass slides straight through her suddenly sweaty (not so noticeable yet; if anyone sees her problem, Elaine is going to blame it on condensation) palm. The woman beside her’s  _ eyes  _ are even prettier than the rest of her, gold-flecked hazel that make Elaine feel a little warm underneath the high collar of her dress. She drops her own eyes, self-consciously trying to tug down the dress’ short hemline with one hand since the bar stool is making it ride shockingly high on her thighs. “And don’t apologise, because both of those idiots over there are grown men who are fully capable of apologising for themselves. Which they  _ should  _ be doing.”

“Oh, I -” her bar companion pauses, apparently considering Elaine’s words. “Yes.” She leans back over the bar counter to talk to the man working behind her - and Elaine really  _ does  _ have to avert her eyes from the other woman then, because the angle otherwise gives her a line of clear sight down the lady’s shirt. “I will have whatever this lady is having.” She gestures to Elaine, before leaning closer to Elaine and offering a candid: “It looks good.”

“Strawberry daiquiri.” The strawberry on the side of the glass is shaped like a little heart.  _ Very  _ festive. Elaine takes a deep swallow of her drink, waiting until the woman beside her has a matching glass in her hands, looking back at Elaine, before tipping her head in the direction of their red-faced, still-arguing companions at the entrance to the bar area. Unimpressive. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the appeal?”

Elaine gets another shrug for that, much more careless than the ones before. “I’ve never had a date on Valentine’s Day before. I thought it would be romantic.” Tan fingers pluck at the strawberry on their owner’s glass, dunking the fruit into the pink beverage inside. “You?”

Alcohol - and watching that strawberry get lifted to a set of lipstick red lips - loosens Elaine’s tongue. “He’s a work colleague. His arse looks pretty when he bends over.”

Hazel eyes blink at her. And then, to Elaine’s pleased delight, the woman beside her  _ laughs. _

Trying not to smile, Elaine reaches for her own strawberry to eat, waiting the pleasant sound out. “This was our third date. It’s  _ definitely  _ going to be our last.”

“I have less to lose; this was our first.” The strange woman looks over the arguing men, and sighs. “...Also our last. I cannot believe they’re still arguing.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t all been thrown out.” It’s a busy work-night in the restaurant business, and the  _ maître d _ is looking more and more harassed the louder the arguing men get, and the more times Elaine has to decline taking a table.

Almost thoughtfully, Elaine’s companion sets her daiquiri back down on the bar counter. “...Would you like to have dinner with me instead?”

Elaine gawks, and her own drink makes another valiant slide through her hand for the floor again before she tightens her grip. “...Dinner?” she asks dumbly.

“Yes.” Elaine gets nodded at firmly, so she  _ isn’t  _ just hearing things. (Hearing things would probably make more sense.) “Our…  _ dates  _ are neglecting us terribly; we are dumping them anyway, and you…” a slow,  _ thorough  _ once-over that has Elaine going pink and pulling at her short hemline again, “you look amazing. In that dress.” Some of her companion’s lipstick has come away where she bit into her strawberry, make-up smeared with the juice, but her lips below are still a dark, inviting colour. “We could go as friends, if you would prefer that, but, if it is not presumptuous of me to say so, I think you have been giving me more than friendly looks…?”

_ Oh God. _ Elaine’s pink cheeks immediately flare a deep, burning red. “I -”

“I like your looks!” she is hastily assured, before the other woman realises what she has said, and adds: “In both meanings of that sentence. And my arse, I have been told, is not too bad to look at either?”

Judging by the rest of her, Elaine doesn’t doubt it. “I would love to,” she blurts out, aware she’s been staring a little too long and has yet to give an answer to the most appealing offer she’s been made all  _ year _ (so far). “Have dinner with you. A date dinner. Dinner date. Um.”

The other woman smiles, wide and pleased, and it makes Elaine’s stomach turn over. The woman offers her hand. “I’m Glória.”

“Elaine,” Elaine replies, and has a stupid moment where she goes to take the offered limb with the hand still holding her daiquiri - before realising her mistake and, flustered, setting down the drink so she can shake Glória’s - her new  _ date’s  _ \- hand. Glória’s grip is solid and warm (or maybe Elaine’s hand is cold from clutching her drink). “You really don’t look so bad yourself.”

The next time the  _ maître d  _ shows up, asking if Elaine and her companion are ready to go to their table yet, Elaine says she and her companion  _ at the bar  _ are. Discreetly gesturing to Glória.

To his credit, the  _ maître d  _ pauses for only a few seconds. “...And the gentlemen?”

The ‘gentlemen’ are still arguing near the entrance to the restaurant, irate about  _ God  _ knows what. Elaine doesn’t think either of them have glanced over at either her or Glória in the past fifteen minutes.

“...I believe the gentlemen have forgotten they even  _ reserved  _ a table,” says Elaine finally, accepting the arm Glória offers her so she can attempt to slide off the bar-stool she now feels  _ stuck  _ to with some grace without her dress riding halfway up her backside. “Never mind that they had dates. They’re not with us anymore.”

Elaine has no idea what happens to her former date - or Glória’s - after that. The  _ maître d  _ leads them to their table, setting down their strawberry daiquiris amongst intimate golden candlelight and pink and red roses twined in a small glass vase. The lighting is very becoming on Glória and her gold-flecked eyes, and Elaine can’t help but feel that, instead of taking home the pity-prize as expected, she has accidentally stumbled onto the jackpot.

“So,” says Glória, her smile tracking Elaine’s soft, pleased smile and her dark ponytail swinging forward over her shoulder as she leans over her elbows on the table between them. “Apart from our terrible taste in men and a fondness for strawberry daiquiris, do you think we have anything else in common?”


End file.
